


Our Arrangement

by CaffeinationNation



Category: Clone High
Genre: Canon Divergent, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ponce isn’t dead, also each chapter has art jsyk, it's a slow burn sort of i guess, more characters to be added as they become important, they are maybe fake dating at first and then catch feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinationNation/pseuds/CaffeinationNation
Summary: “Let me get this straight, Kennedy,” Van Gogh started with a sneer, “You want me to help you with your gay crisis despite the fact you literally shoved me into my locker just this morning.”“Er uh…”How two idiots fall in love.
Relationships: JFK/Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 211





	1. Chapter 1

“Let me get this straight, Kennedy,” Van Gogh started with a sneer, “You want me to help you with your gay crisis despite the fact you literally shoved me into my locker just this morning.”

“Er uh…”

“You also shook me down for my lunch money last week.”

“Er uh…”

“— _And_ the week before you tripped me during cross country practice.”

“Er uh…”

Vincent crossed his arms, expectantly.

_Think, Kennedy!_ John panicked to himself. _This shorty is the only openly gay kid in this damn school. Your dads are no help either. They just would go on about them being proud of you. Which I mean I don’t blame ‘em but--”_

“JFK.”

Van Gogh snapped him out of his internal monologue impatiently.

“...I’ll make it worth your, uh, while.”

The scrutinizing look Vincent gave him was a mixture of pity and annoyance.

“I’m not sleeping with you, JFK.”

“I meant I was gonna buy you art supplies, short-stack.”

Vincent frowned and turned away from JFK in thought, tapping his pencil against his sketchbook in thought.

After a few moments, Van Gogh sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. You’re lucky I’m running low on turpentine.”

Kennedy grinned excitedly, opening his mouth but was cut off by Van Gogh slamming his sketchbook shut.

“—But! You can’t call me any ridiculous nicknames. It’s Van Gogh. Or Vincent.”

“How about Vinnie?” JFK flashed his signature smile.

Van Gogh hated how his heart did a flip.

“...Okay,” he agreed softly.

The alarm nearly drowned out Van Gogh’s next words, causing Kennedy to have to lean forward in his chair to hear him properly— so close he could nearly count the faint freckles on Vincent’s cheeks.

“Meet me out front after school. We’ll walk to my place and talk— _only talk —_ about this… arrangement.”

“Sure thing, Vinnie!”

* * *

The walk to Vincent’s house was surprisingly quiet and calm. Considering the attitude Van Gogh adopted during the initial proposal, JFK was sure that Vincent would stay prickly towards him. But, Van Gogh was actually humming a tune as they walked. John couldn’t recognize it, though it sounded familiar; it was soft and slow with an almost haunting melody.

Vincent turned abruptly in their walk, heading up a driveway and causing JFK to double back to follow him.

It was a quaint house. Painted blue with yellow accented windows. He wondered idly, looking at Van Gogh’s attire if he had chosen the color scheme himself.

Vincent let them in and led him upstairs after waving to his foster mother. She didn’t question JFK’s presence as he trailed behind him like a lost puppy.

The bedroom was expectedly messy— not with clothes everywhere or trash not quite reaching the bin— but with paint splatters and stains that didn’t quite come out of the hardwood floor, canvases that were stacked every which way, and crayon marks on the wall where a much younger Vincent must have spent time drawing.

His bed, however, was neatly made and Van Gogh hopped on top of it, patting the space next to him for JFK to sit.

He did so, folding his hands politely as he wasn’t sure exactly he was and wasn’t allowed to touch… yet.

Van Gogh reached into his nightstand and pulled out a spare notebook and pencil, writing in large capital letters: RULES. He underlined it twice.

“Alright, Kennedy,” he started off, writing a number one, “What are you comfortable with exactly?”

“What do you, uh, mean?”

“You’ve never been with a guy before. I’m letting you ‘test out gay stuff’ with me as you put it—”

JFK nodded along to those points.

“—so what are you comfortable with doing in this…” Vincent paused. He wasn’t exactly keen on calling it a relationship, ”...arrangement.”

Kennedy shrugged, “I dunno.”

“Okay… well, what are you uncomfortable with?”

“I dunno…. I’ve never been with a guy before shor—I mean Vinnie,” JFK huffed, frustrated with himself.

“Neither have I,” Vincent mumbled inaudibly.

“Well. We’ll start slow I suppose then,” writing down his first rule: Ask for permission before doing anything beyond hand-holding or hugging. 

“So, I’m not allowed to er uh, kiss ya?”

Van Gogh paused and added an addendum: or closed-mouth kissing.

There was no protest.

Rule two: Don’t tell Cleo.

“Why not?” Was the immediate question out of JFK’s mouth.

“She is your ex and she’ll give me absolute hell if she knows we’re dating,” was the immediate answer.

“Oh, yeah…can I tell anyone, uh, else?”

“As long as you know they can keep it under wraps, I suppose that’s fine. In other words— do not under any circumstances tell Gandhi,” he shoved his pencil threateningly in JFK’s face.

Rule three: Do not make derogatory comments about me.

“Why would I do that?”

Van Gogh gave him a look that John couldn’t decipher. Seeing his obvious confusion and obliviousness, he only shook his head and sighed.

“I’ll just have it there as a reminder to treat me with at least a shred of respect. If we’re doing this at all, I would like to at least be treated a little better than one of your flings.”

“Oh yeah, can I still do that?”

Van Gogh lifted an eyebrow.

Rule four: You are free to see other people, but they have to be aware of this arrangement.

In his head, Van Gogh counted that rule as the one that was the most likely to be broken. JFK would probably go in without telling the girl he was seeing small, unpopular, art fanatic Vincent Van Gogh.

He did wonder why Kennedy came to him specifically for this; though, he counted it as a blessing in disguise. At the very least, he’d finally have his first kiss. He could mark that off his bucket list. Even if it was for someone else’s benefit.

So, he wasn’t exactly facing this relationship in a healthy manner. He was tired of being lonely; sue him.

“Alright. If that all sounds fair, then you’re free to go home now,” He ripped the page out of the notebook and handed it over.

“Already?”

It was unfair how pitiful he sounded.

“You can hang out here if you at least let me finish my homework first. I have an art assignment too and—”

“Can I watch you, er, draw?”

Vincent’s eyes grew wide before returning to a suspicious squint.

“...I suppose you can.”


	2. Bad Ideas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theme song for this chapter is Bad Ideas by Tessa Violet

Watching Van Gogh work was mesmerizing. The broad strokes of his pencil seemed to know exactly where to go on the canvas, and the marks varied in length and opacity. Once he was done sketching it was like JFK was pulled out of a trance. Vincent hopped up from beside him on the bed, placing the canvas on his easel.

JFK nearly screamed as he then slathered the canvas in yellow paint.

His distress must have been apparent because when Vincent turned to pick up a tube of phthalo green, he had to quickly smother a smile and laugh.

He quickly dipped his brush in some paint thinner and mixed it with the green, painting the stems of the quickly forming sunflowers. And just like that, JFK was both pacified and mesmerized.

Van Gogh wasn’t used to having an audience, so he was a bit more tentative because of the eyes he could feel on him. But once he got absorbed in the paint, the color, the rhythm of creating and being at one with his own world, JFK just seemed to effortlessly become part of the seams.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed— as was the standard whenever he was sucked into this mindset— until he heard his foster mom call him and his friend down for dinner.

Kennedy didn’t seem to mind the notion, taking a moment to text his foster dads that he’d be late back home that night (and to save him a slice of pie.) He followed Vincent again back downstairs, and with a small introduction to Vincent’s foster mom plus a charming smile, they sat down for dinner.

It wasn’t as awkward as it could have been, Van Gogh supposed. His foster mom had a habit of not asking too many questions, thankfully. Even when he had almost cut off his whole ear, she hadn’t asked why. She just took him to the hospital and held his hand.

It was what he liked about her a lot.

After supper, John managed to pull his eyes away long enough to finish his own homework. Van Gogh finished his own assignment and went to put it on the drying rack. JFK stood up and walked over, looking over it with awe.

It made Vincent’s face heat up at the attention. He coughed to distract JFK from looking at the painting too long. Vincent could feel himself getting far too embarrassed.

“We should probably get you back home. I can ask my foster mom if she’ll drive you.”

“Oh yeah. Uh…” JFK paused and crossed his arms in thought, “can I pick you up tomorrow for school?”

Van Gogh blinked once and then twice before nodding slowly.

“Okay. But—please— remember to stick to the rules. I don’t want Cleo… or Gandhi… catching wind of this.”

“You got it, Vinnie!”

Stupid heart doing stupid flips.

* * *

Just as he said, JFK was there to pick him up bright and early. He tucked his canvas under his arm and waved goodbye to his foster mom before quickly shuffling to the red Corvette. To his surprise, JFK got out of the car and opened the passenger side for him, putting his assignment safely in the backseat.

_So there’s a gentleman buried somewhere in there, after all,_ Vincent thought to himself with a small smile.

The drive to the school wouldn’t take too long, and Van Gogh enjoyed the landscape rushing by, his hair blowing in the wind. He usually walked his way to school, and he wondered if he could ever convince Kennedy to do the same sometime. As nice as it was to feel the breeze, he did enjoy taking in the sights.

_Speaking of sights_ , he turned to Kennedy who was concentrating on the road. He allowed himself to enjoy the novelty of the situation at the very least. Kennedy was, of course, a good looking guy, even Vincent could admit that. The curve of his jaw, his deep blue eyes, and his perfectly combed hair aside, his smile could charm the pants (and had) off any woman he could ever want.

And he chose Vincent.

_Well, sort of…_

He must have been staring too long because Kennedy locked eyes with them as he glanced over. It must have been only a second or two of eye contact but it sent a jolt through Vincent, snapping his face forward and aflame.

He didn’t look over at JFK for the rest of the ride, missing the soft smile that made its way to John’s lips.

* * *

Despite his initial rejection of the idea, Van Gogh allowed JFK’s arm to drape over his shoulder as they meandered through the halls of Clone High. He was still paranoid of running into Cleo, and could feel himself tense up at the stares they were receiving; but, after a firm shoulder-squeeze from JFK, he allowed himself to relax somewhat.

“Heya, Poncey!” Kennedy raised his hand in greeting to his best friend and partner in crime.

“Hey, Jack,” was the soft answer, as Ponce turned to smile kindly back.

He was a bit taken aback at Vincent, tucked firmly underneath JFK’s arm. Ponce tucked his hands in his pants pockets, gesturing his head to Van Gogh.

“Hey, Van Gogh.”

“Hello, Ponce,” he answered back politely. Like most of the student body, Vincent did like Ponce. He was a genuine guy, if a little bit of a litterbug, and kind to pretty much everyone despite his popular kid status.

“Oh yeah, Ponce! This is Vinnie—”

Ponce raised an eyebrow at the nickname.

“—my boyfriend!”

His other eyebrow went up.

Vincent felt his face start to become a shade of red that matched his hair. JFK, oblivious to the silence, simply ruffled Vincent’s hair with his hand.

“Congratulations, Jack. I think you two are a good pair.”

“You do?” Came both JFK’s (excited) and Vincent’s (disbelieving) answer.

“Of course, man. You two balance each other out,” Ponce nodded sagely.

_Hm._

Vincent wasn’t sure he believed that but at the very least he was grateful for Ponce’s ‘blessing.’ He knew JFK considered Ponce’s opinion to be the most important one on planet Earth. Not that he blamed him, really. He’d love to have a friend like Ponce too.

“Well, I’ve gotta jet. You two love bugs have fun,” Ponce smiled and waved as he leisurely made his way down the hall.

Vincent gave a small half-smile, fondly regarding the retreating back of Ponce de Leon. He heard a small sniffle coming from his side and he turned questioningly toward JFK who had tears in his eyes.

“Kennedy?” Vincent asked softly, “Are you… okay?”

It felt weird to ask such a simple question to the normally unshakeable jock.

“Yeah, I uh… I’m fine. I’m just glad Ponce is okay.”

Van Gogh squinted up at him, confused. There was clearly something JFK wasn’t telling him, but he figured it wasn’t his place to pry… yet.

He debated to himself for a moment before making a decision to stretch up on his tiptoes to give John a small peck on the cheek.

“I’m glad you’re okay too.”

Vincent could almost hear the cogs turning in JFK’s brain as he gave a blank stare in front of him, before slowly turning to Van Gogh.

Vincent decided then and there he had enough attention and embarrassment for one day.

He had dashed off before JFK had the time to process what happened.

“See you in class, John!” was all he could muster to yell back at him as his small legs booked it to first period.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the positive response to this fic! I’m hoping you guys continue to enjoy as it updates <3


	3. Crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's soundtrack is Crush by Tessa Violet

One week had passed by and Vincent was pleasantly surprised that he and JFK were still informally seeing each other  _ and _ it was kept under wraps. He was unsure if the women JFK had…  _ been with _ … during that week actually knew about the situation or not. But, he couldn’t hold it against Kennedy too much. He had been following the rules otherwise.

Vincent had to keep his standards fairly realistic. This was JFK, after all.

At the very least, he knew Cleo hadn’t caught wind of it due to his still intact lack of reputation.

He had been doing his part too when he heard the telltale clack of Cleo’s platform shoes approaching down a hallway — quickly hiding behind JFK’s tall form or opening a nearby locker to jump into.

The most surprising thing of all, however, was how slowly the relationship was progressing. Almost painfully so, if Vincent had to complain. He hadn’t even been  _ kissed _ yet. The most physical intimacy they’ve had were small cheek kisses — which  _ Vincent _ had started— or the occasional hand holding on the way home from school.

It’s not as if Vincent was looking for anything too extreme. Surely a kiss wouldn’t be too out of Kennedy’s comfort zone? But he had to remind himself that this wasn’t a real relationship too. It was a chance for JFK to sort out his gay crisis.

_ But, he had also used the term boyfriends to Ponce… _

Now Van Gogh was the one struggling with his own gay crisis.

Sure, he had known for a while he liked boys. He was comfortable enough in that knowledge even though it did tend to alienate him and cause his loneliness to get worse. Being in this relationship with JFK, however, was causing him the worst confusion he ever felt regarding his sexuality. 

He absolutely refused to get a crush on the biggest womanizer he had ever known.

He would just have to push down the fluttering in his heart he felt whenever John would so much as smile at him.

During one of these moments, he hatched a plot that would get back at JFK for causing him to feel this way. 

He was going to seduce John F Kennedy.

And, if there was something Vincent Van Gogh was uncomfortably good at, it was revenge.

* * *

It started out slowly at first, doing his best to give John his best doe-eyed looks as often as he could. He could catch a hint of pink on Kennedy’s cheeks whenever he did so.

He kicked it up a notch the following day. Vincent took whatever opportunity he could to touch JFK. He would graze his knuckles over Kennedy’s own hand when they were walking to class or lean against him softly when they were talking to Ponce (Ponce noticed). He made sure they held hands on the way back from school. He even was so bold as to rest his head against JFK’s shoulder while they watched a movie together that evening. 

It was hard to tell in the dim room, but Van Gogh could swear from what little light the tv off, the blush had grown a deeper red.

On day three of his plan, he stood in front of the mirror to give himself a pep talk. He had always worn the same comforting jacket day in and out, it wrapped around comfortingly like a childhood blanket. But he knew if this plan was to work, he had to be willing to make some sacrifices.

He decided he’d wear his favorite sunhat in consolation. When JFK commented on how cute it made him look, he almost floundered.

But, he pressed forward after a quick thank you, commenting on how unusually warm that particular autumn day was—

(“It’s er uh, climate change.”)

—and made a show of taking off his blue jacket with a smile.

He was still wearing his usual yellow turtleneck underneath, of course, but John had grown silent and red in response, unsure whether to avert his eyes or not. Vincent held the bundled jacket loosely under his arm, following up with a smooth motion to grab JFK’s hand with the other.

When they got to school, he had to force himself to keep the jacket off despite the whispers that rung in his ears.

He forgot to also let go of JFK’s hand until it was too late. Cleo rounded the corner and looked directly at their entwined hands.

Van Gogh’s heart dropped into his stomach. He began to mentally write his will.

* * *

The past week had been delightfully confusing for JFK. He had, of course, been as charming and popular as ever. But, between sleeping with random girls at their school, he had been dating the small art kid, Vincent Van Gogh.

He, of course, understood the wrath of Cleopatra. Dating her was a whirlwind experience. One of the best times of his life if he were honest. But he knew that Van Gogh wouldn’t be able to handle her on a bad hair day let alone if she knew they were dating.

So, he would step in front of Vincent protectively whenever Cleo was around— even when they weren’t hanging out with each other he’d unconsciously puff himself up to look bigger and tougher in front of her.

But, between his schedule of being very popular, captain of the football team, el capitán of the fútbol team, and cross country practice he had been too tired to make many moves on the short stack.

However, he wasn’t that dense (no matter what Joan said) he couldn’t tell when Vincent began to start flirting with him.

It started one day with the quiet artist fluttering his eyelashes up at him in the same way most girls did when they wanted to spend the night together. The thought made him freeze up a little, wondering if that’s what Vincent was trying to get across.

He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

The next day, he was being touched more by the quiet artist and he noticed how forward the other was being in public. He even cuddled up to him during one of their evening hangouts.

This fella did not know how to be subtle at all, did he?

And  _ then _ to top it all off, he exited his house wearing a cute sun hat that accented his face. If that wasn’t extreme, Vincent then started  _ stripping _ in front of him. Outside. In public.

He was so stunned that he allowed himself to be led to school, jaw slightly unhinged.

Just as he was starting to come to terms that Vincent  _ really wanted to sleep with him _ , Cleo rounded a corner and gave them both a sickeningly false smile, fire in her eyes.

Oh boy.


End file.
